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Friday, May 26, 2017

The Wererock - Chapter 13 – Part 3 of 3

The Wererock

By Guest Writer:Mike

Chapter 13 – Part 3 of 3

“Why not?”

I wanted to keep
that to myself but the threat of sending a revealing photo to Derek forced me
to explain the game and how Cynthia had rigged it to work against me. Rita took
that in, her smiling growing bigger and bigger. “Oh, you two are kinky. Still,”
she seemed to consider what she was about to say but finally kept quiet.
“That’s good to know,” she finally said. “Very well, keep going,” she looked at
me, “both of you.”

I pulled down my
panties and explored my new pussy. The folds shifted against my touch. I
slipped first one finger and then two inside my pussy. I felt a growing
tingling that soon became and tidal wave of lust. One hand pumped a pair of
fingers into my body while the other rubbed my new, sensitive clit. Soon, both
Cynthia and I were moaning in need, fueling our own frustration. I hovered at
the precipice of orgasmic bliss only to find my body dropping from the edge
just long enough to allow my need to rise but the risk of completion to fall
away. Cynthia trembled next to me, feeling that same urgent denial.

“One of you will
come tomorrow night,” Rita finally said. “I just don’t know which one.” She
gave a smile that frightened me, “But you won’t like my game.” Through the rear
view mirror, she peered into my lust-filled eyes. “You’ll like it least of
all.”

I wanted to ask
her why, not knowing that she had accidently touched the stone when she reached
for a tissue from Cynthia’s purse when I’d set Cynthia up for her day of
“wide-spread” exposure. She had touched the stone and the stone had touched her
in return, telling her what to do. Rita was doing what she was told to do by
that Wererock and we, Cynthia and I, were forced to go along.

Rita drove, with
the two of us fingering our cunts in the back seat. The car smelled of sex. Our
moans were loud and unending. I felt trapped on the edge of completion,
desperate to take the plunge that would send me over the edge but the stone had
forbidden it and the stone, unlike Cynthia and I, couldn’t be denied.

Off Capital
Circle, heading south towards the airport, there is an adult shop that sold
lingerie and videos, sex toys and magazines. In the back, there were video
booths that played pornographic movies from interracial to anal, bondage to
hard-core gang bangs. Rita parked the car and looked at us. “You,” Rita said,
“need to experience some of the things we girls have all done. I think you need
to go buy you your first vibrator. Take your time, imagine how it will fill inside
that cute little pussy of yours. But first,” she grinned, “dip your fingers
into your pussy and dab a little of those juices behind your ears and on your
wrists.” She looked at Cynthia, “you just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Cynthia kept
masturbating while I slipped my wet fingers into my even wetter pussy. I rubbed
my new perfume behind my ears, on my wrists and as Rita commanded between my
breasts as well. I pulled my panties in place and climbed out of the car. The
sky was overcast, threatening an afternoon thunderstorm that Florida was famous
for. Magnolia trees shook in the breeze and overhead I heard a crow call out.
Traffic raced by on the road behind me. The store stood alone with black paper
blocking the glass door. A mannequin in the window was dressed in the smallest
bathing suit I had ever seen; it was basically just a few strings with a tiny
swath of fabric that barely covered the mannequin’s nipples and left all but a
half-inch strip of its plastic crotch uncovered. I couldn’t help but wonder
how’d Cynthia look in that.

I grabbed onto
my purse a little tighter as I opened the door. I read the sign stating you had
to be eighteen to even enter and hoped they didn’t card me; as of yet I didn’t
have an ID card with my name on it. The store was well lit and cleaner than I
expected. To the right of the door was a long, elevated counter where a young
girl with about two dozen piercings on her face and just as many tattoos on her
arms was working, stocking a storage case with flavored condoms. To my left
were six rows of videos broken down by category. On the back wall was a single
black curtain leading to the video booths. To the far right of the store were
racks of toys and bondage gear, handcuffs and nipple clamps. Just about
anything imaginable. The middle of the store held the lingerie, costumes and
bikinis.

I strode into
the store not really feeling embarrassed. I was a man, at least internally, and
the way I thought and felt was fueled by what I was, not by how I looked. It
dawned on me that there was an important lesson in what I was thinking. I
walked to the bikini, deciding that Cynthia needed one. Just because I knew how
it would play out, I picked up two of them, one in silver and one in gold. With
the barely-there bathing suits in my hand I made my way to the toy section.
There were some things I’d never seen before and some I had only imagined.
Looking at the leather contraptions and latex schlongs, at the handcuffs and
high-heeled shoes with impossibly tall platforms, I was amazed at all the
possibilities. I’d have to come back here with Cynthia later. We could have a
ball.

The side wall
held dozens of faux cocks. There were some that were beige and some that were
black. They had them in various sizes, from the size of my thumb to some monstrosity
that seemed as big around as a two-liter bottle of coke. Some cocks vibrated,
some squirted liquids out the tip. There were also gentler vibrators, smooth
and thin. I picked up a vibrator that was silver with a black base you twisted
to make buzz. It was about six inches long, nothing huge. It looked innocent,
well as pure as a vibrator could. Perfect.

I paid for my
vibrator and bathing suits with cash; my credit cards were in the wrong name,
too. I had to think about why they said Adam. My name was Amy, any other name
was hard. I left the store with my purse draped over my left shoulder and a
black bag clutched in my right hand holding my purchases.

“Let’s see what
you bought,” Rita commanded as I climbed in the back seat. I pulled out the
vibrator, dropping the bag and bathing suits onto the floor of her car. The
vibrator was trapped in hard plastic with a pair of generic batteries. “Oh,
that’s a nice one. Too bad I don’t…” She gave me a smile, “Why don’t you go
back in and see if they’ll open it up for you. Tell whoever’s working that you
just can’t wait to get home and you want to use it now.”

That idea did
get through to me. My face flushed red. Cynthia gave me a wan little smile but
kept rubbing her juicy cunt. Her fingers were sopping wet and there was a
scarlet hue to her cheeks that had to match my own. I left the car and darted
back into the store.

“Forget
something, sweetie?” The tattooed girls said.

“I… that is… I
just can’t wait to get home to use this thing.” I stammered, stumbling over my
words, “can you open it for me?” I held the vibrator up. The front of the store
was empty save for me and this young girl. There were two other cars in the
parking lot so I assumed there was someone in one of the booths in the back.

The girl grinned
and held open a pair of scissors. “You’re not the first person to ask that,
sweetie,” she said, taking the vibrator package from my hand. She opened the
toy, unscrewed the cap, put in the batteries and put it all back together. She
wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the toy. Good for her, I remember thinking.
While she wasn’t embarrassed, I certainly was. My mouth was dry and that
horniness I’d felt leaving the car had long since waned. She twisted the cap,
making sure the buzzing to buzzed. “Here you go,” she said, turning the
vibrator off. “Have fun. You really should consider buying a Hitachi magic
wand; that’ll knock your socks off.”

It sounded like
she was speaking from experience. “Thanks,” I mumbled, leaving the store
without the package, holding nothing but a vibrator in my hands. I was certain
my heart would burst if someone were to pull up and see it in my hand. I
hurried back to the car, once again climbing into the back seat.

Rita applauded.
“Good girl. Why don’t you test it out while we go for a drive? We need to get
you two matching dresses for tomorrow night.”

That didn’t
sound good. I didn’t know what she had planned but whatever it was I knew it
wasn’t going to be good. She had said as much. She was setting us up for
something and she had told me that I wasn’t going to like it. I didn’t even
like thinking about it and I had nothing to go on. Even then, I was full of
trepidation.

I hiked up my
skirt and slipped my panties to my knees, holding them in place by spreading my
legs, my panties bridging the gap. I turned on the vibrator, the toy sounding
loud in the car. I ran the vibrator up my thighs, touching it to my pussy. My
stomach lurched, hoisting my sex into the air. It felt good, God did it feel
good. It buzzed, sending vibrations deep into my pussy. My whole clit seemed to
thrum happily against the rigid toy. I slipped it into my pussy, feeling the
buzzing from both inside and outside my cunt. My whole sex seemed to tighten
against the toy, clutching it, sending those pleasurable vibrations even
deeper. I grabbed Cynthia’s leg and felt the warmth of her body. I gasped. I
moaned. And as I struggled to come, I begged. Oh, how I begged.

Rita laughed.
Cynthia gave me a sad look full of sorry.

“Keep
going,” Rita said, backing the car out of our parking space. “Don’t stop.” She
adjusted her mirror to look at Cynthia. “Either of you.”

Cynthia
began masturbating again, having stopped to watch me tease myself. I continued
to fuck myself, pounding that buzzing toy into my pussy and out again, as Cynthia
stroked her hard clit, teasing her own needy pussy. By the time Rita stopped
driving we were both achingly desperate to come. I was still begging, I was
sure of it, but now my words were more guttural, less human. Rita smiled,
obviously pleased.

“Okay
you two,” she said. “We’ve got to get you something to wear tomorrow night.”
She climbed out of the car and Cynthia and I followed suit. I wasn’t the least
bit surprised to see we were at the mall. Where else could we go to have a
readily available audience?

Rita
gave a predatory smile in response. “You both need new dresses.” She looked at
me, “Every girl has a little black dress in her closet. Something sexy and
short. We’re here to get one for both of you.” She looked at Cynthia, “You’re
the show-off. Your dress will be, shall we say, inappropriate. Find one that’s
too short and far to revealing. If it’s not short enough you won’t like what
I’ll do. Got it?”

I
didn’t like the sound of that and the way the color drained from Cynthia’s face
I was certain she didn’t either.

“I
want you to understand how short your dress should be. Come here.” Cynthia
walked over to stand before Margarite. “From now on this skirt is the longest
you’re allowed to wear outside of the office. We’ll work on the office dress
code later.” The skirt was already short; it covered her fully in the front and
reached down to barely cover the crease of her ass in the back. I couldn’t
imagine wearing a skirt that short and to have that be the longest one was just
obscene. I thought of speaking up but knew the only thing that would bring
would be something even worse. I swallowed my words and gave Cynthia a
supporting glance instead. “Now, why don’t you roll the waistband once.”

Cynthia
complied. Her blue skirt had about an inch-thick waistband. She folded the band
inward, tucking it under itself. This caused her skirt to ride up about an inch
all the way around. The skirt, already short, became even shorter. “Again,”
Rita said, watching the show. Cynthia rolled her skirt again, making it even
shorter. The apex of her thighs was just visible. From where I was standing I
couldn’t see anything but if I were to crouch I was certain I’d be given quite
the show. The fold, where her legs met her sexy ass was now visible as was the
lower inch or so of her ass. “One more time,” Rita commanded. Cynthia complied,
folding the waistband in again. The results were dramatic. At least a third of
her ass was on display and without straining I could see that she wasn’t
wearing panties. The skirt was obscene. Rita thought otherwise, “Perfect.
That’s how short your dress should be. For you, my sexy slut, little is the key
word. Now, run off.”

Cynthia
started towards the outdoor mall. I followed behind her, using my body to
shield the view of her sexy behind. We walked through the concourse, past the
kiosks selling baseball caps and souvenirs for both the Gators and the
Seminoles. We walked past a bookstore and a GameStop, past three jewelry stores
and the same Victoria’s Secret that wasn’t so secret any longer. Cynthia led us
to a woman’s boutique sandwiched between an iPhone repair store and a store
selling hot pretzels and lemonade. The store sold club wear and some of the
shortest skirts and dresses I’d ever seen. Cynthia knew the place well.

“Come
on,” she said, taking my hand. “This’ll be fun.”

I
had almost forgotten how much she was into forced exhibitionism and with Rita
running the show, she was definitely being forced. The store was lit by
individual lightbulbs hanging on black wires. Circular racks were scattered
about the store with mannequins sitting on a piece of mirrored glass in the
center of each clothing rack. Along each of the walls were hanging dozens of
skirts and blouses, all of them tiny. “This place is called party city,”
Cynthia explained.

“I
thought it was called ‘Club Corner’,” I said, recalling the name above the
door.

Cynthia
laughed and I deferred to her expertise, only then realizing she was making a
joke. I guess my nerves and horny need wasn’t letting me think clearly. Cynthia
led me to a rack that held nothing but black dresses. Other racks held dresses
of every color, from gold to green, blue to beige, but the rack Cynthia was
perusing was filled with nothing but black, some longer than others, some low
cut with thick shoulder bands, others made of simple spaghetti straps.

Cynthia
thumbed through the dresses, pulling some free to hold in front of her body.
She discarded some as too long even though I thought they were far too short.
She selected about a dozen dresses of different lengths and styles before
pulling me with her to the dressing rooms in the back. “I’ve got some for both
of us,” she said, smiling, leading me by my hand. “This’ll be fun.”

If
only we knew.

The
dressing rooms were separated from the main floor by a pair of swinging doors
like you’d find leading into an old west saloon. Beyond the door were seven
dressing rooms, three on each side and a bigger one opposite where we were
standing. A single bulb on a simple black wire hung down in each room,
partitioned by another pair of brown saloon doors. Cynthia yanked my arm and
pulled me into the biggest of the seven dressing rooms.

“Strip,”
she said, as she began removing her skirt and blouse.

We
were alone and the stone was powerful, “yes, mistress.”

Cynthia
beamed. When you don’t wear much, it doesn’t take long to strip. Cynthia was
naked save for her heels by the time I was down to my bra and panties. “That
should be good,” she said, giving me a look I couldn’t quite place. Was it
jealousy or joy that was written on her face? Maybe it was both? “Here,” she
handed me a dress.

I
unzipped the back and shimmied into the dress, stepping through the opening at
the top and shaking my hips to get it into place. It had thin straps, about the
width of a ruler, with black lace running around the hem at my thighs. Cynthia
zipped me up. It felt too tight for my boobs and I thought it was a little
short, ending about halfway between my knees and my crotch. It was tight and short
and fit well enough.

“That
looks good,” Cynthia said, stepping into a dress of her own. She looked
amazing. The dress she wore was short. Damned short. A little more than a third
of her ass was exposed and it ended right at her crotch. With each step she’d
take in that thing she’d be flashing her denuded pussy. It had one strap going
over her right shoulder; her left would be bare. The middle of the dress was
nothing but lace revealing her stomach and the bottom swell of her breasts.
That was the most revealing dress I’d ever seen.

“Wow,”
I said, taking it in. “That’s skimpy.”

“And
hot.” Cynthia said, admiring herself in the mirrors that lined each of the
outer walls of the booth.

I
agreed. Standing next to her my dress wasn’t nearly so revealing. In fact, it
looked quite demure even though I was flashing a lot of cleavage and a good bit
of thigh. At least my ass was covered. Cynthia was showing half her sexy butt,
a bit of under boob and just as much cleavage as me. Next to her, even though
my dress was sexy, I looked dowdy.

We
tried on a few more dresses but Cynthia’s eye had been perfect. Ultimately, we
chose the two we tried on first. Cynthia paid for them since I didn’t have that
much cash on me and my credit cards were still in the wrong name. I really
needed to get some in my name, or at least with my initial: A.

Rita
was waiting for us as we left the store, “Did you find what you needed?”

We
agreed that we had.

“Good,
tomorrow afternoon I’ll be over to set up my game. I’m, shall we say, ironing
out the kinks. I promise, one of you’ll get to come.”

It
sounded like she was dismissing us and as far as I was concerned that was a
good thing. Still, I was terrified of her game even though I wasn’t sure what
it would be. The way she said it made me uncomfortable. She was talking like a
megalomaniac about to blow up the world, or maybe a Scooby Doo villain. She had
this air about her that was wholly power hungry. It was the Wererock of course;
it had her. Hadn’t I been the same way when I first discovered it? Trying out
what it could do and needing to do more and more, like a junkie needing a fix?
Yes, I knew what she was feeling, only she had puppets to play with and so,
ultimately, had a little more leeway in what she could do. I had been careless
and I was taking care of myself. Rita didn’t have those self-preservation
concerns.

“I’m
keeping the stone. Don’t worry, I’ll be bringing it back.” She looked at me,
“Can have you go making any changes, right?”

If
she wanted an answer she didn’t get one.

“Sadly,
I’ve got to get home to my husband.” She sounded disappointed but not the least
bit sad. “First, give me your phone.” Cynthia started to hand over the phone.
“Unlock it, first.”

Cynthia obeyed,
handing her phone to Rita. She looked nervous, afraid of what Rita was going to
do. Rita flipped through the contacts and a moment later, we all heard Rita’s
phone, buried deep in her own purse, chirp. Rita gave Cynthia back her phone.
“You two have fun.”

“What did you
do?” Cynthia asked, worried.

“Nothing big,
don’t worry.” Being told not to worry was always cause to worry. “I just sent
me a few of your contacts. Derek for one; your mom; your old boss; Olivia,
she’s your hairdresser, right? I have those pictures we took the other day and
now I have people to send them to. I told you’d they’d make great blackmail
photos and now, well, I guess you’ll do what I want, right?”

Cynthia’s
mouth fell open as she absorbed what Rita had said.

With
that, Rita turned and left, laughing as he walked away. Cynthia and I watched
her go, the Wererock, our ride, and our freedom going with her. That was bad;
we needed that stone. I didn’t like the idea of losing it at all. And we needed
that phone. Maybe even more than the Wererock.

When
Margarite was out of sight, Cynthia grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled it
down, unrolling the waistband, lengthening her skirt to something that was as
long as the little black dress I’d just bought. She looked a little more
relaxed once she was somewhat covered, “What are we going to do?” Cynthia
asked.

We
walked through the open concourse, skirting past the same stores we’d passed on
our way in. I pulled my phone from my purse and called an Uber. “We’ll go
home,” I said.

“I
meant about Rita. What is up with her?”

That
question confused me. I didn’t know her near as well as Cynthia. “I take it
this isn’t normal behavior for her.”

“God
no,” she exclaimed. “She’s as straight-laced as they come. Yes,” she blushed as
she spoke, “I have purposefully lost some silly bets to her, an excuse to
flash, because, well,” I knew what she was talking about, because it turned her
on. “But it was something we joked about. This isn’t like her at all.”

We
waited for our ride, trying to decide what prompted the changes Cynthia noted
in her friend and what we were going to do about it. “We’ve got to get the
Wererock back.” Cynthia greed with me on that point; she didn’t like Rita
having it any more than I did.

“Thank
you,” she said to me.

“For?”

“Going
along with everything. For not letting Cynthia send that picture to Derek.”

“She
can still send it,” I said. “That was smart on her part to get those contacts.
We’ve got to get that phone, too. We need both of them back.”

“How?”

As
our ride pulled up I answered that question with an honest, “I don’t know.”

Websites

About Me

For those of you who might remember me, I’m the same Karen who used to have the website My Sissy Rules Fantasy that Yahoo suddenly deleted several years ago. I still miss my website and really hope to have one back again someday, but, well, I guess I procrastinate a lot – plus, I think the internet has been doing a lot of growing lately.
Other than that, what else can I tell you about me? As I said, I’m male. An older male to be exact. One who has wished very hard his entire (and I mean entire) life that he had been born a girl. Seriously! You have no idea how much that aches in me – always.
I’ve always been small and skinny, except recently my stomach has decided it wants to be large and fat (Arrgh!). Oh yeah, I’m also very married to a wonderful woman who knows nothing at all about this side of me… and I intend to work very hard at keeping it that way.
So for me, life is good, and life is bad, and life is worse, and life is horrible, and life is great. But that’s what life is – you take what it hands you and you do the very best you can under the circumstances. And you enjoy what little bits that you can, wherever and however you can manage it.